If
anyone ever gets a hold of my phone, I’m off to jail. Good bye. It’s been nice
knowing you. You’ve all been so great. My phone is chock full of evidence against
me. Exhibit after exhibit of conversations and images and videos to assassinate
my character and destroy everything I have ever accomplished in life. And I know
I’m not the only one.
A
phone is such a personal thing. It witnesses all your conversations- the
version you told your man about last night’s party versus the version you told
your best girlfriend. It knows your bank account number and more importantly,
your bank account balance. It houses the other 37 pictures you had to take
before you were finally about to catch yourself at the right angle in the right
light. It has the non-photoshopped “before pics” of your side rolls that you
took the last 12 times you started a new diet. It’s seen the sexy messages
along with the NSFW pictures of your naughty bits AND it knows who you sent
them to (if you are a freak). It also knows that you copied and pasted the same
pictures and messages and sent them to a second person (if you are a super
freak). It knows your search history- “why do I have a grey hair down there”, “when
to use their versus they’re versus there versus the” “Obama nudes” “high
quality fake Birkin” “butt pads for cheap.” It knows everything.
A
phone is the blueprint to your soul. The key to who you really are- the unadulterated
uncensored unretouched version of you.
